


tides of a permanent blackout

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Battle Buddies AU, Battle Buddies Verse, M/M, battle buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Battle Buddies!AU. Five times Jeremy told Ryan he loves him, and one time Ryan said it back.





	tides of a permanent blackout

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]

**1.**

 

Ryan feeds crumpled dollar bills into the vending machine in the hall, muttering curse words to himself when a couple get rejected, or eaten, and collects his spoils in one big sweep of his hands. He has to enter the simulation room ass first, because he can’t push open the door.

“I’m so fuckin’ sick of these analytics, man,” Jeremy complains. He’s still got the simulation goggles on. “We’ve been in here for _hours_ , I just wanna go home--”

Ryan opens his arms, and lets snacks cascade onto the conference table – it’s like an avalanche of no real nutritional value. Jeremy’s head jerks towards the sound of crinkling plastic.

“Are those snacks I can hear?”

“Sure are,” Ryan says.

He has to fight off a laugh when Jeremy wrestles the goggles from his face. “ _Dude!_ ” he says jubilantly. “I’m _so_ hungry--”

“--I know, asshole. It’s why I got the snacks.”

Jeremy’s in real danger of choking himself to death; he tears the wrapper from an energy bar and crams it into his face. “Oh my god,” he moans, “I love you.”

Ryan ignores the way his heart leaps.

“Are you… Do you need some alone time, here?” he asks, adopting a concerned tone. “You’re not gonna fuck the vending machine, are you?”

Jeremy snorts. His hand jumps to his mouth, in an attempt to contain the bits of muesli which are in _serious_ danger of escaping.

Ryan shakes his head, and takes a seat again. Only two more hours of simulation work to go.

 

 

**2.**

 

“…and if you wanted to grab a coffee afterwards, we could discuss training over that, maybe?”

“Uhh,” he says intelligently. “Kia, I think you’re a great agent, and I’m real flattered, but…”

“Not like that?”

“Not like that,” he agrees sheepishly. “It’s not personal. If that’s… any consolation at all.”

Kia smiles vibrantly. If she’s disappointed, he can’t tell. “It’s okay, it was worth a shot,” she grins, and cheekily punches him in the arm: “be seeing you, Haywood!”

And she turns away from his locker, bounding away in a cloud of sun-bleached locks and turned heads.

Kia’s beautiful, he can’t deny that. She’s strong, she’s badass, she’s overwhelmingly positive, and she’s a Top Ten ranked soldier. But if she’s gonna discuss training over coffee with someone, then that someone can’t be him.

Jeremy pokes his head out from beside him, and slams his locker door.

“Ryan… _Buddy_. I love you, but you’re an idiot.”

“Huh?”

“Just look at her,” he says exasperatedly, “I can’t believe you turned down _Agent Malone_. Who hurt you, man? She’s a fuckin’ catch.”

“It’s not like that,” Ryan cringes, and tidies up his locker to occupy himself.

“ _Clearly_. You can’t be so picky, dude, a lady like Malone doesn’t come around often--”

“I don’t,” he bursts out, tripping up, “I’m not--”

And Jeremy says, “…oh.”

And then, “ _oh!_ ”

And then he waves his hands around randomly and says: “so… _you_ and… the fairer sex? Not a thing?”

“I don’t even like _fair_ ,” Ryan confesses. It’s a difficult feat, not to glance at Jeremy’s beard when he tells him this, but he manages to pull it off.

“So Ryan Haywood’s into tall, dark, and handsome? Damn, dude, I gotta keep an eye out.”

“It’s... something like that. Yeah.”

“God, why didn’t you just say so, Ry? We’ll find you someone,” Jeremy grins, and slaps him amicably on the back. Ryan can’t help thinking that he’s already sorted in that respect.

Jeremy’s right. He’s an idiot.

 

 

**3.**

 

“--so the Director wants to see us _personally_.”

“Oh, shit,” Jeremy’s voice says in his ear. “You think we did something really-really- _good_? Or really-really-bad?”

Ryan narrows his eyes, trying to focus on the rapid speech filtering through his cell phone. “I can’t think of anything we did badly,” he eventually decides. “But we should probably be waiting on time, just in case.”

“Alright. I’ll be there. Fifteen hundred hours, right?”

“Yup.”

“Okay,” Jeremy says cheerily, “you got it, pal! I love you, _byeeeee_ \--”

And honest to god, Ryan almost drops his cell. He hears the click of Jeremy hanging up, and wonders if anyone in this busy department hallway saw him fumble his whole life for a second there. Had Jeremy even realised he’d said that?

Come on, Haywood, pull yourself together. This crush is getting too much, now. It’s a crush in excess, too much to handle, and you need to sort it out. It’s gonna get you hurt. Or worse, it’s gonna get _him_ hurt.

And Ryan wouldn’t be able to live with himself if they couldn’t be the Battle Buddies anymore. It’s his life, now. It’s his life, and his training, and all of his days, and he can’t give that up.

He wishes Jeremy would stop being so flippantly affectionate. They wait outside to be summoned, and his partner’s hand taps his shoulder as part of a joke he barely registers, and his dumb laugh lights up his entire face.

(Especially when they’re not meant to be laughing, because they’re _outside the Director’s office_.)

Ryan particularly wishes he isn’t this distracted during the meeting, where the Director tells them to their faces that she’s trusting them with brand-new training software. And he really, _really_ wishes he could focus on, y’know, _literally anything else_ when Jeremy beams at him proudly.

“We done good, Buddy,” Jeremy says, with audible capital letters. He’s practically _shining_.

Ryan tries to pass off his pleased flush as a reaction to their commendation.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We did.”

 

 

**4.**

 

The experimental simulation software is fantastic, until it’s not, and then it’s _super_ bad.

He remembers being in the virtual reality room, hooked up to machines, and feeling confident that Jeremy has his six, and then…

It happens in the real world, and makes him jump out of his skin. There’s a grab at his elbow. A nasty crunching noise. Jeremy collapses, and starts convulsing, and _why on God’s green earth would anyone make simulation software with a pain threshold installed? It’s not a fucking simulation if it_ _actually feels like you got shot_ _! Come on, Jere, stay with me--_

It’s not too serious, but they’re in the agency’s medical bay when Ryan overhears that they’re scrapping the program.

“Yeah, it’s been a real waste of time,” says one of the soldiers to a colleague, lurking in the corridor outside of the trauma ward. “Apparently this is the third or fourth guy this has happened to--”

“They should’ve stopped with the first, then,” Ryan growls, invading their personal space and brimming over with animosity.

The soldiers make a hasty retreat.

The next few hours blur by; it’s all background noise, completely irrelevant to Ryan’s ears with his unconscious friend lying in front of his eyes. He counts the metal beads making up Jeremy’s dog tags to pass the time. He memorises every inked swirl from what he can see of Jeremy’s tattoo – _the Dooley family crest, I updated it a bit but I love how it came out, whaddaya think, Ry?_

He’s in the middle of staring at the lone patch of facial hair outlining Jeremy’s bottom lip when he catches sentence snippets from the ward doctor.

“ _Temporary delirium_ ,”

and,

“ _one week’s sick leave, for both of you,_ ”

and,

“ _he’s regaining consciousness, we’ll discharge him within the hour and you can take him home._ ”

Jeremy doesn’t say much. Ryan has to buckle his seatbelt for him; the man’s eyes have misted over, his stare all glassy and unseeing. When he pushes him back to shut the passenger door, it becomes evident that his skin is burning up.

On the drive back to the apartment complex they share, Ryan grips the steering wheel so hard that he embosses the leather with his hands.

There’s minimal dragging, and more guiding – Jeremy’s feet are shaky, but not unstable. Kinda like a farm animal that was born a few hours ago. It’s easier than it looks, getting him to collapse into bed, but it’s not exactly playing out like it does in Ryan’s midnight fantasies. Never mind.

He throws the covers over Jeremy’s languid form – thank god for the medical staff who changed him into those loose civvies, right? – and lingers by the door for a second. It’s worth checking that his battle buddy isn’t gonna choke on his own tongue while Ryan brews some coffee and grabs a bite to eat. He only lives five doors down. He won’t take too long.

“Are you mad at me?” Jeremy rasps.

Ryan blinks, startled.

“No,” he says firmly, coming to his senses and perching on the edge of the bed. “No, Jeremy, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at everyone else for letting this happen.”

“…I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t ruin _anything_. That’s a promise.”

“Are you sure?”

Ryan looks at Jeremy’s stare, flickering wildly with the strain of a synthetic frenzy, and wonders if he’s hallucinating a little.

“I’m positive. I’m even gonna get some food, grab my stuff… I’m staying here tonight, Jeremy, I’m gonna make sure you’re okay,” he says kindly. “Would I do that if I was mad at you?”

“Yes,” Jeremy mumbles, and Ryan chuckles for the first time all day.

“We’re the Battle Buddies. I’m not gonna leave my partner behind.”

Jeremy closes his eyes and slurs something.

“Didn’t quite catch that, Lil J.”

“I wish we were,” Jeremy repeats, louder this time, “partners, I mean--”

Ryan presses the back of his hand to Jeremy’s forehead, and quickly retracts it. The guy’s white-hot to the touch. (And kind of damp, too, ew.)

“You should really get some rest,” he says. “I’ll bring you some water, okay?”

But as he makes a move to stand, Jeremy grabs his wrist:

“You know I love you?” he says, and it’s almost a plea, “you know that, right?”

God _damn_ , Ryan feels his heart fucking _melt._ As though, under the heat of the delirious, nonsensical babbling, and that desperate, prickling stare, it’s reduced him to puddle status.

“Yeah, buddy,” he concludes. “...I know.”

He feels cruel. Jeremy clearly doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s sick - he basically just survived a headshot, for crying out loud – and the machines they were hooked up to are still messing with him.

“I know,” he repeats, and it’s a lie, but he leaves to brew himself some coffee anyway.

When he returns, Jeremy’s drifted into fitful sleep.

 

 

**5.**

 

They get sent out on a standard-level mission, and it should be an easy one. They’re certainly qualified enough for it.

Halfway through, it complicates itself. The Agency have a lot of explaining to do.

“So you’re saying,” Jeremy hisses, “that our weapon stash _didn’t make it?!”_

“We can only apologise,” say Mission Control into their ears.

“Yeah, a whole fuckin’ lot of good that does,” he seethes, and switches off his comms. “Ryan, what the _fuck_ are we gonna do?”

Ryan shushes him, because he’s thinking.

They’re crammed into a storage room full of dangerous liquid supplies. Within a huge scientific facility, where they have to take out a CEO. The guy’s making dodgy biological weaponry deals to foreign armies, and he really needs to be neutralised.

They weren’t prepared for the possibility of doing this without guns, though. Which means they can’t snipe him from afar. They can hardly beat him to a pulp with melee weapons on a stealth mission, either. God. What a mess.

“I guess we could jump him,” Jeremy suggests, but he must be on the same page, because he shakes his head disapprovingly. “Nah. It’s too close for comfort. Too obvious. Goddamnit.”

“Hey, Jeremy.”

“I don’t wanna give up the mission, though, I really need to get back in the field, and if we fail this one… Man, I hate desk duty, too. Ryan, this sucks some _serious_ dick.”

“Jeremy--”

“What about if we follow him back after hours? It’s a long time, I’ll admit, it might threaten our ride outta here… They could deal with it, though, right? Ah, _no_ , I don’t want to put the pilots in danger, that’s not fair on ‘em--”

“Jeremy!” Ryan stage-whispers. He wants to shout, but it’s too risky and might give their hiding space in the closet away.

“What?”

“Do you remember your science training?”

“Barely,” Jeremy shrugs, “I only passed because it was mandatory. Why?”

“I _do_ remember it,” Ryan says. “We’ve got enough chemicals in here to whip up a fast-acting poison.”

“You’re joking.”

“And I literally just spotted some hypodermic needles on the top shelf there... It’s still _very_ close range, but it’s definitely stealthier. Do you think you can inject--?”

“Yes,” says Jeremy immediately. He’s got an intent, sombre expression etched across his face; it’s as if he could chisel stone with his eyes alone.

“Cool,” Ryan replies, because there isn’t really anything else to say.

He reaches for the hydrochloric acid (which is a good start to a fast-acting poison) and Jeremy watches him like a hawk.

“Ryan,” he says seriously. “I fuckin’ _love_ you.”

“You’ll definitely love me when we manage to avoid desk duty.”

He hands Jeremy some goggles and gloves before he snaps them on himself. Business, Haywood. C’mon. They’ve got a mission to complete, and they’re gonna do it without guns.

 

 

**+1.**

 

The world is pixelating softly. It would be pleasant, if the dull pain in his ribs wasn’t pulling him under the tides of a permanent blackout. Maybe it’ll subside.

It doesn’t. It pulsates, spreading across his right side, and warming his shredded body armour wetly.

There are a few things he’s dimly aware of.

The helicopter is one of them. It doesn’t seem as loud as helicopters usually are, but then the blast from the land mine might have shot his hearing slightly. The thing hovers, black and huge against the clear blue skies, before descending on them like a bird of prey.

Another one is the realisation that they’d _technically_ completed their mission. It’s not the Battle Buddies’ fault that their target had driven into an improvised roadside explosive – in fact, he’d been successfully taken out by it, and it looked accidental, so they’d done a damn good job even if he _had_ spotted them and fled the scene.

Jeremy swims into view, and, as is becoming increasingly more frequent in Ryan’s life, he seems like the only person in focus.

“You okay?” he croaks.

Jeremy laughs tearfully. He’s got both of his hands pressed against Ryan’s ribs, real hard. “You _moron_ ,” he says, and oh, no, he looks sad again suddenly. “Am _I_ okay? You saved my life, you fuckin’ _fool_ \--”

“Good,” Ryan says.

It’s better than good.

He coughs.

“Don’t do this to me, Ry, c’mon. The medics, they’re right here, any second--”

And he knows, Ryan _categorically_ knows he’s probably going to be alright. One of Agent Malone’s squad got a punctured lung one time, and they were back in work faster than you could say ‘physical therapy’.

It doesn’t matter. He still gives in to the desire to put his hand over Jeremy’s.

“I love you,” he mumbles. They’re stopping blood, together.

“Yeah,” Jeremy cries, and he’s grinning shakily, “yeah, that sounds good. Just wait, Ry, we can talk about it later, I’ve got so much to tell you-- so fucking much--”

And the medics swoop, descending on him like miracles in green. Jeremy blurs out of sight again.

He doesn’t recall the helicopter ride, later on. And he fails to commit, to any section of his memory, the vision of slivers of shrapnel, sliding out of his skin like a steel splinter. The anaesthesia makes sure of that.

What Ryan _does_ remember, however, is the feeling of Jeremy’s hands under his own, stoppering his life up just a few inches from his heart, and, oh god, he remembers every word he said to him before the flight to the hospital.

When he regains consciousness –

feeling particularly lucid and sore –

Ryan finds himself in a spacious white room.

He immediately notices Jeremy, the lone splash of colour in the corner. All brown hair and tattered black combat trousers, and the top to some borrowed blue scrubs that seems to have replaced his body armour. He’s asleep, sideways, in a single-seat chair.

(How long has he been out for? How long has it been since Jeremy went home?)

It really can’t be a comfortable position. His short legs barely dangle over the edge of the arms, for god’s sake.

“Hey,” Ryan tries to say, and rasps instead.

Doesn’t matter. Jeremy jerks awake, with an adrenaline-fueled twitch he usually reserves for the battlefield, and slips onto the floor.

He barely notices.

“ _Ryan--_ ”

“I’m fine,” Ryan says.

Jeremy’s at his side in a second. Ryan turns his head stiffly, and sees knuckles holding the bedframe so tightly that they’re white with tremors. He thinks of his car, and how his hands had been moulded to the wheel after Jeremy’s simulation accident.

“You’re _not_ fine,” he’s saying, “you got fingered in the chest by Edward Scissorhands, I thought I was gonna have to go solo.”

“No chance.”

“Hell of a punctured lung, though. And a nicked artery. Coulda fooled me.”

“I was fine,” Ryan whispers. “The medics were right there, Jeremy.”

A silence settles between them. Jeremy adjusts his chair so he can properly sit next to the hospital bed; the only signs that they’re not the last two people on Earth are the footsteps of doctors beyond the door.

“You remember it?”

Ryan tries to shrug, and winces when he pulls on what are probably surgical staples. “Until the point when they shuffled me into the chopper, it’s… uh. It’s _vivid_.”

“I would have _died_ , Ry,” Jeremy says uncomfortably. “You fuckin’ saved my ass, I’m not kidding around.”

“Good,” he replies, and is hit in the face with a déjà vu-shaped brick.

It’s better than good.

“ _Not_ good,” insists Jeremy. “You didn’t even stop to think… This is all my fault.”

“Don’t start that,” Ryan says firmly. “It was… It was _unfortunate_ , and circumstantial. And I already told you why I did it.”

He could watch the red blotches of reality setting in, which creep steadily up Jeremy’s neck, all damn day.

“So,” says Jeremy slowly - the red settles in his beard - “so you meant it? You remember saying that?”

It seems obvious to him. Ryan hadn’t been dying, and he’d known that at the time (no matter how bad it’d looked). He’d just wanted to explain himself. “It’s true,” he says simply. “We had good backup, and we completed our mission, and you’re my _partner_.”

Jeremy nods.

“I mean… If you wanna be,” he finishes lamely.

Argh. That’s not smooth. That’s the least smooth.

He thinks, though, that a big part of why he loves Jeremy is because the man can overlook his poor way with words. It always sounds better in his head, and Jeremy knows what to listen for - he can read Ryan’s mind like a book, when Ryan opens up enough to let him flick through the chapters.

“I wanna be,” says Jeremy. He stands up gently. Despite the height jokes the other soldiers crack, Ryan can’t help but notice that he takes up the whole room.

Pressing their foreheads together, and sliding a hand up Ryan’s shoulder, Jeremy stays there with him for a ridiculously long time, until the nurse patrolling the ward notices he’s regained consciousness. It’s an evening filled with care instructions and therapy appointments.

Jeremy’s present for it all.

Yeah, Ryan thinks, this is good. This’ll do. They’re buddies, and partners, and maybe _partners_ , and Jeremy loves him. Loves him enough to tell him all the time, as a matter of fact.

Ryan _definitely_ loves him back. It’s in his life, now. His training. All of his days. He won’t give it up; a land mine couldn’t make him.

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers for reading my dumb fiction :0 Beta read by the wonderful [wildcardluck](http://wildcardluck.tumblr.com/), to whom a million thanks are owed - this one changed a LOT between readthroughs.
> 
> Feel free to message me [on tumblr](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com/) for prompts, general Jeremwood discussion, or idek, anything. I love hearing from y'all.  
> (Or talk to me about Battle Buddies lore - I just gotta know all the BB backstory/theories/etc.)


End file.
